Running From Your Shadow
by schrodingerian
Summary: He hasn't told her about the woman, about the kids, and about the life he was supposed to have before he began hunting Raymond Reddington. Bleeding out in the box with only Red for company, Ressler recalls his life before meeting and falling in love with Elizabeth Keen. AU Anslo Garrick. There is no such thing as Audrey Bidwell.


The metal bench is cold against his back, but he barely notices. Sweat beads his brow, and Reddington's face, hovering above his own, flickers in and out of focus. Anslo Garrick's voice surrounds him, echoing through the tinny space, rebounding off the glass and colliding with his eardrum. Reddington answers, something that floats about the space pleasantly. Red's voice has never sounded so sweet, so melodic and calm despite the circumstances. Against all odds, Donald is glad to hear it. He feels Reddington shift faintly at his side, removing the vacutainer from his arm, cutting off the flow of blood between them. He is barely aware of what's happening anymore, knowing only that flashes of intense pain have defined his afternoon. Hadn't he been in Munich only that morning, sipping a scotch and accepting a faux-congratulatory clap on the back from the very man whose existence had just gotten him shot?

"Donald, can I ask you a personal question?"

Donald closes his eyes, waits for the inevitably invasive, unwelcome inquiry that Reddington is about to make. He has no choice but to answer—Donald is smart enough to understand that he owe Red his life—but he grimaces to think that he is at the mercy of a criminal. Having hunted him for so long, he despises that it is _he_ who owes a debt, _he_ who must pay, if not in blood in praise. Years of resentment are balancing out in the box.

"What happened to Jeanette Morrissey?"

Donald hasn't been entirely honest.

"Where are Sebastian and Emma?"

It seems ironic that the man who ended his relationship is now asking about it. Donald realises that Reddington can't possibly know that it is _this_ injury that has built such terrible animosity between them. He has wondered before if Red thinks that his dislike is merely principled, if he is simply rooted in the act of dutiful Special Agent Ressler, reporting for duty. He does not hate Red because Red is deceitful and despicable, a traitor and a terrorist. He hates Red because Red tore his family apart bit by bit until they couldn't stand it any longer.

But blood is leaking out of his leg, pooling on a metal table and seeping through his suit. The red-hot pain has ceased into a dull throbbing, gives him a headache that pulses in his temple and simultaneously numbs all his senses. He's losing feeling in his extremities, feels a cold setting into his fingertips that slowly spread upwards, like frostbite. The wintery chill renders all that it touches inanimate. Motion becomes more difficult with every passing second. Reddington's hands are stained crimson from tending to his wound. _Reddington is saving his life_.

He has nothing to lose by telling the truth—not to Red, at least.

Liz is the sort of beautiful that makes Don's heart stops when he sees her. She carries herself with an air of kindness that transcends the earthly realm they live in. Her eyes are trusting, even though he knows that for years her heart was boarded up. It was closed for maintenance, repairing tears and patching the holes that Tom left. He saw the slow process that began two months after Tom went missing, watched the painstaking process of thawing the valves around her heart. He watched the aorta as it pulsed for the first time in weeks, watched the ventricles slowly regain movement and expand. He watched and willed her heart to beat and accept life once more.

Composed again, he sees her as delicate. Perhaps it's unfair to think this little of her, but he knows what she went through. Almost a year later, he cannot help but worry. He watched her life turn upside down, and he's frightened that he might do it again, however unwittingly. If Liz finds out the wrong way, he's afraid she'll leave forever. He's afraid she won't trust him. What they have is precious. She is already wary of others, and he has been tiptoeing to satiate her insecurities.

Cooper doesn't want their personal lives at work. He understands that. It's why he raises his guards when Liz is around, makes sure that his hands are in his pockets when they stand together. He doesn't want to give away that his pulse quickens when he sees her. She covers her feelings in her own way, maintains a façade of total professionalism, speaks only of the case and rarely engages in banter. Meera is their constant watchdog, unknowingly keeping them within bounds. They can't afford to step over the line—the repressions on their relationship or respective careers would be unendurable.

But Cooper isn't the only person who could cause them pain. Donald knows that he has a weapon of his own that he will eventually have to use on Liz. His past is catching up to him, staring at him defiantly asking _What about me?_ while Raymond Reddington watches patiently.

One day he'll have to tell her. In the meantime, he'll just tell Red.


End file.
